


Omega

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama, M/M, Points of View
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-28
Updated: 2006-10-28
Packaged: 2018-12-26 18:49:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12064920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: I have never written a fic like this one before, and probably never will again, but I was moved by my muse, and here it is. Please read the warning. --December 9, 2002





	Omega

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

"I'm not leaving. You leave!" Justin yelled, slamming his drink down on the smooth acrylic of the bar. Earlier in the evening, Babylon had seemed to be jammed with every gay man within a thirty-mile radius…but for some unknown reason, both men had been taken aback by running into the other buying drinks.

Brian laughed. "I didn't ask you to leave, I told you to get the fuck out of my face." The guys stared each other down for a minute, and just when it seemed that neither would ever give in, Brian wiped his mouth and fumbled for his keys.

"I don't need this. I'm out of here."

The words hung in the air as he turned and started to walk away, not the least bit surprised that Justin had resumed following - and yelling.

"Since when do I need a fucking permit to come out and dance, Brian? Tell me!" He shouted over the pulsing techno beat, grabbing the back of Brian's shirt when it was clear he was purposefully being ignored.

Brian stiffened, then turned his head to say, "You don't. That's between you and the busker." He paused, but when Justin didn't rise to the bait, he turned to face him directly. "I am going to the back room, so if you're worried about getting your poor, delicate little heart broken again, I suggest you go and dance and forget I was ever here."

Justin snorted. "Careful, you wouldn't want to sound like you give a damn about me OR my feelings."

"I don't," he enunciated clearly, grabbing Justin's jaw for emphasis. "I didn't care then and I DON'T care now. If you want to go, then go. If you want to stay, then stay. Stand in the corner and do the fucking Macarena for all I care, I'm just sick and tired of hearing about it! Why the fuck can't you get a life and leave me alone?!?" He turned towards the back room, then changed course and headed for the door instead.

Justin followed, hot on his heels and at double his usual fight volume. "LEAVE YOU THE FUCK ALONE???" he shouted, pushing past Brian and stopping in front of the door. "I didn't ask you to come here. You never, ever come here early on Saturday night! You show up everywhere I go - outside the school, outside the diner - but you never come in. It's creepy. I'm sick of being stalked!"

"Stalked?" Brian interrupted. "You've lost your fucking mind!"

"Whatever. I'm not interested in this bullshit tonight. I came to dance, and if I can't do that, I'm leaving. You can be the aging overlord of your fucked-over kingdom until your dick falls off for all I care." Brian rolled his eyes, and Justin bristled.

"Fuck you. I'm leaving!"

"So go." Brian fumbled for his keys again, not having any more success in finding them than he had at the bar. "Go or stay, I don't give a fuck. I won't be here to see it."

Justin snickered at Brian's inability to find his own pockets. "Like you could drive your inebriated ass anywhere but into a wall. Give me your keys, I'll drive you home."

"Fuck you. I'm not going home. I have business to attend to." Finding his keys on the fourth try, he shoved Justin out of the way and slammed through the door.

"Have fun at the baths! Tell Marty I said hi!" Justin snarled as he rushed through the door, feinting to the side at the last minute so that it wouldn't slam in his face. He gave Brian a small shove down the stairs, and when Brian stumbled on the last step, Justin repeated his earlier demand. "Give me the damn keys. You can't drive over there, you'll just end up killing someone."

Brian was unimpressed with the advice. "Mind your own fucking business, Justin."

Justin groaned, mumbling, "I don't know why I bother. You never listen to me anyway." He stamped his foot in aggravation, a Michael-like move that made Brian laugh out loud.

"I never did and I never will." He finally reached the Jeep, pressing his forehead against the cold steel for a moment before he taunted, "You always did stick your tit where it didn't belong, Sunshine."

Justin came to Brian's side and actively tried to pull the keys from his hand. "O-kay, you're plastered. No, you used the S-word, you're a mile beyond plastered. I'm driving."

Brian pulled his arm away and snarled, "Fuck you."

Justin stood his ground. "No, fuck YOU! Asshole! You're just going to mow down some innocent pedestrian. I'll drive you to the baths and take the Jeep to Michael's. You can pick it up there in the morning."

"Tsk tsk, Sunshine, still trying to get laid. What would your fiddle player think?"

"Jesus, Brian, you're unreal. No wonder you're never lonely, you have your ego to keep you company! Don't worry about Ethan - if he was looking at you right this second, he'd think I was doing charity work!"

"If you think I'm letting you behind the wheel, you're fucked."

"Well, then I'm coming with you." Justin stood as Brian unlocked the car, and watched as Brian leaned over…seemingly from habit…to unlock the passenger side. Justin opened the passenger door, and asked, "Are you sure?"

Brian shrugged. "Do what you want."

Justin slid in quickly and slammed the door shut just as Brian pulled away from the curb. "Fine. I'll ride with you to the baths, but I'm taking the Jeep to Michael's afterwards."

Brian nodded in agreement, and then swore as a car leaving a parking space on the street cut him off. He swerved hard into the oncoming lane, passing the offending car with a rude gesture and weaving back into his own lane only when an approaching car laid on the horn.

Justin had fallen silent during the manoeuvre, but when they were safely back on the correct side of the road, he softly asked, "Please, Brian, let me drive the rest of the way."

Brian chuckled. "We're only six blocks away now. I can do it in my sleep. Fuck that, I have done it in my sleep. No worries, Sunshine."

Justin closed his mouth, biting his lip to keep from begging as Brian sped and swerved through the cars on the late-night roads. As they approached the park, the Jeep had begun a dizzying slalom around corners and between cars that left Justin anxious and nauseated.

Brian turned from the road, laughing at Justin's white-knuckled grip on the dashboard. "You're going soft…is the poor baby scared of - "

"BRIAN! LOOK OUT!" Justin screamed, pointing towards the windshield just in time for Brian to turn back to the road…giving him one perfect second of comprehension.

Brian's startled, "OH SHIT!" mingled with the sounds of rending metal and shattering glass, and the hollow thump of steel colliding with wood, as the Jeep struck a large tree. The vehicle creaked and groaned as it ricocheted off the maple, and the street fell silent as the car became still.

***

I am so sick of racing into hospitals. I mean, really, really sick of it. First Uncle Vic, then Ted, then Justin, and now Brian. You just never know what you're running into…

I know that theoretically, people who go into this line of work LIKE people, but that never seems to be the case for me. I always end up having to deal with Nurse Ratched or something. Besides, nobody's at their best at 2 am, and nobody I know is kind enough to have a medical emergency during business hours. Let's just say that when you have to deal with the night staff, sometimes the snarkiness can be overwhelming. So when I go up to the cheerful youngish woman at the nurse's station and say, "You called me. I'm Michael Novotny," I just don't know what to expect.

The woman smiles at me and pointing to her name badge comments, "I'm Caitlyn." She shuffles through the files in front of her until she finds a red folder with Brian's name on it. "I've been expecting you. You're listed as the emergency contact for Mr. Brian Kinney…but I suppose we covered that on the phone."

"Yeah." She comes out of the small room, where several other nurses are writing things in green charts, blue charts…I wonder if the colours of the folders mean anything?

The nurse (Caitlyn Caitlyn Caitlyn, I have to keep reminding myself of the nurse's name or I won't remember it later) points through a smallish doorway to a row of battered green chairs facing the nurses' station. "That's the private waiting room. We can go in there and sit down, if you want."

"Um…okay." I say, blindly following her into the sterile little room full of ancient magazines and worn out chairs. She waits for me to sit down, and then does the same, taking a few minutes to read from Brian's file.

I search her face for clues, but her sight just flickers back and forth over the pages. She's got all this black hair, very pale green eyes, and white, white skin. Brian always called these kinds of girls, "Black Irish" but never explained why. I'll have to ask him.

I get sick of looking at her, eventually, so I clear my throat. "Well?"

"Michael…can I call you Michael, or would you prefer Mr. Novotny?"

"Michael is fine! Now, what's wrong with Brian?"

She nods seriously, checking her file… Brian's file…again before catching my eye. "Michael, there's no easy way for me to say this, so I'm just going to be honest. Brian has been in a very serious automobile accident. He's been critically injured. That means he has internal bleeding, which we managed to stabilize for now, and many broken bones. He also suffered a broken jaw and palate, and a skull fracture when his head went through the windshield. We're trying to be hopeful, but he hasn't regained consciousness. At this point, it doesn't look good."

"Oh, my God…" I want to say more, ask more, but it's all jumbled up in my head. Where? When? Are you serious? But all I can think to say is…well…stupid.

"Jesus."

"Michael, I'm sorry. I wish I could give you better news, but try not to give up. It's not over yet. We're still waiting on some test results; we may be able to give you a better idea of his chances then. Give us an hour or two and we'll know more."

"Do you know what happened?"

She shakes her head a little, shuffling through the folder itself for a small handwritten note. "It seems that Mr. Kinney was driving along Bartlett when he drove head-on into a tree. That's all the information we have from the scene."

Bartlett? What the hell was he doing on Bartlett? I'll ask him when he wakes up. "Is there anything I can do?"

She smiles kindly, and I can't tell if it's fake or not. "You came down here, that's the most important thing." She pats my hand in a motherly way, even though she looks about twenty. "You wouldn't believe how many people don't come down until 8 or 9 in the morning! He can have a visitor for ten minutes every hour, so sit with him, and talk to him. Many people think that people in comas can hear you talking. Just please, no minors. You're welcome to stay in here for the remainder of those hours."

"Of course. How could I say no to all of this?" I joke lamely, gesturing to the benches and chairs, the old fashioned television on the wall, and the soda machine still selling Fanta.

"Exactly." She turns to leave the room, but pauses in the doorway. "Say, do you happen to know a man named Victor Grassi?"

"Sure. He's my uncle - why?"

She takes a red piece of paper out of the folder, frowns, and puts it back in place. "No, I don't think that's the right man. Mr. Kinney was brought in with a passenger, and we're still trying to determine his next of kin. He wasn't carrying any identification other than a membership card bearing the name Victor Grassi."

"A blue card from a club called Babylon…" I say tonelessly as my stomach starts to sink. They may not know who the passenger is, but I sure as hell do.

"Yes. Blue card, date of birth faded beyond recognition. The man was young, in his twenties, maybe. Blonde."

"Yes, I know him. His name is Justin Taylor." I pause for a minute, struggling to find the right description for our relationship. 'He's my best friend's cheating twinkie ex,' doesn't sound right in a hospital, and 'He used to be my business partner until I found out he was a liar,' doesn't seem kind under the circumstances, so I go right back to basics.

"My mom sort of adopted him."

"So you would know his contact information?" I nod, and she smiles, saying, "Oh, that's a relief."

She pulls a pen out of her pocket, writing down his real name, and the phone number for Jennifer's condo that I have on a slip of paper in my wallet. I let her get almost all the way back to the nurses' station before I lose the battle with myself and ask her to wait.

"Caitlyn? The boy you brought in with Brian, you know, Justin? Is he going to be okay?"

Her eyes open wide for a minute, and then she looks really, really sad for the first time tonight.

"No, honey, I'm sorry, he's not. He was dead on arrival."

***

"Teddy, it's your turn to go and sit with Brian. I need a coffee," Emmett pauses in the door of the private waiting room, stretching his arms over his head until his shocking pink sweater rises above the waistband of his lime-green jeans. He sighs and slides into the bench beside me. "Did you ever think we'd be doing this for Brian?"

I look around the spotless but still dingy room, and shrug. "Well, he is a human being, you know, he's not Rage. The way he lives, it was to be expected." It sounds harsh, but it's true. You can't live on the edge indefinitely without ever falling off. Emmett pats my shoulder, placating a fool, because he clearly doesn't agree with me. I don't blame him; I don't actually believe me either. Brian always did seem sort of invincible. "How does he look?"

Funny how it always comes down to that.

Em shakes his head gravely and sighs. "Not that great, Teddy." He starts smoothing the creases out of the knees of his jeans, nervously flattening the hideous green denim under his fingers as he talks. "Michael went through the list of his injuries so we'd know what to expect, but it was still a shock, you know?"

"Not really. I haven't seen him."

He sighs and sits up to lean his head against the wall. "He…uh…he doesn't really look good, Teddy, not like Brian anymore. I mean, he doesn't look like anyone anymore. He's all covered with bandages and stuff right now, but Michael says his face is flat as a pancake."

"Jesus."

"Yeah. The doctor who was talking to Michael said he might never look like… himself… ever again."

Wow. I don't envy the person who has to tell him that, whenever he wakes up. If there's one thing that would kill Brian for sure, it's knowing that he might end up looking like a freak for the rest of his life. Well, maybe there are two things…

"Has anyone told him about Justin yet?"

Emmett's eyes fill with tears at the mention of Justin's name, but he grabs my shoulders and looks at me seriously, voice wavering. "No, and you can't either. We all agreed not to say anything to him about that until we're sure he's awake. You never know what they can hear when they're sleeping, and we don't want to give him any reason to slip away." I nod, hoping that Em will loosen his grasp on my shoulders, but he tightens his grip a little more and gives me a tiny shake. "I mean it."

"Okay, I promise! Now will you please let go," I gripe, hoping that Em doesn't break into another fit of sobs like he did this morning. Don't get me wrong, I'm very upset that Justin has died, but it's just not civilized to be carrying on in public like that! "It's probably better that he doesn't wake up, it might keep him out of prison. I think that someone will end up pressing charges."

"Teddy, don't say that!" Emmett looks properly scandalized that I would dare to suggest Brian should die, as if that's what I really meant. I'm not apologizing, though. If he still has any wits about him, then he WILL stay under for a while. If Brian is really as cagey as I think, then he'll stay under until Jennifer calms down.

He's been driving drunk for years and years, and pretty much anyone on Liberty will attest to that. His case would look ridiculous in court, and they'd lock him up and throw away the key. Emmett still looks upset though, so I give in - but just a little. "I didn't mean he should die. I meant that he should stay asleep until everyone composes themselves."

"Oh." I want to think he's quiet because he knows I'm right, because the world would make so much more sense if people were logical, like I am. He gets up and makes his way back over to the door. "I'm going for that coffee…after this one, when's your next shift?"

We all agreed to split the day into shifts, so that there's always someone sitting with Brian during his ten minutes of visitation. As much as some of us would like to stay here all day, the world hasn't stopped turning just because Brian Kinney is in a coma…and it didn't stop just because Justin Taylor was killed, either.

"Not until later tonight. Pretty much everyone in the free world is coming in today. I don't know why anyone needs me here at all."

Em stops, turning to treat me to another nasty glare. "He came and sat with you, Ted, when you were sick and lying here. Every day."

"He did?"

Nobody ever told me that Brian had been here with me so much. I mean, it's not like I remember being in a coma, but I sort of thought I'd remember him being there, if he had come in more than the one time I caught him fucking that nurse… orderly… whatever.

"He never missed his shift then, so don't even think about missing yours now."

I nod, and Emmett mentions something about keeping me company tonight. I'd be really grateful if he came in during my next shift to say hi, because no matter how you cut it, ten minutes of visitation per hour leaves fifty minutes of sitting in this miserable, dank little room, with its worn linoleum and harsh fluorescent lights as a constant reminder of where you are and what you're waiting for.

We say our goodbyes, and he's almost left the room altogether when he stops and looks at the floor, whispering as if he's releasing a state secret.

"His face…My God…he's really messed up, Ted. Brace yourself. It's pretty bad." He sighs and wanders off to get his coffee, leaving me glued to my chair and completely uninterested in seeing Brian for myself.

***

"Uh, hi, Brian," I say to the sleeping, bloody, Brian-shaped mess lying on the bed. "It's Ted." He gives no response - not that I'd necessarily get one if he were awake, either.

I stand just inside the door, hovering, waiting for something to happen like it does in the movies. He'll suck in a great big breath, sit up and open his eyes, and life will go back to normal. Justin will be miraculously revived, and we can go back to cruising pretty boys at Babylon.

Yeah, and I might become a tax-free millionaire.

Knowing that he really isn't going to wake up this second gives me an opportunity to look around. There's not much to look at - one tiny night table and one hospital bed in a room the approximate size of a large closet. There are no flowers, and the window faces a red brick wall. The fluorescent fixture on the ceiling is off, but the morning is overcast and the room is gloomy and grey. The already-small room is made even smaller by a plethora of machines, big and small, all electronic, all reminding us with whistles and beeps that Brian is sort of alive inside that broken shell, as if the horrible wheezing gurgle coming from his body isn't reminder enough.

Ugh. Nine minutes to go.

"You look good." An outright lie, of course. He looks like shit. Apparently, Mr. "I Don't Believe In Love, Courtesy, or Seatbelts," kissed the windshield at 50 miles an hour, and his head went through. Asshole. Michael says his entire face got squashed like a bug, but I can't really tell - he's wrapped in white gauze with some red blood spots seeping through, like one of those mummies from an old movie.

Eight minutes. "Sorry it's just me, but they'll only let us in one at a time. Michael had to go in to the store for a couple of hours, you know, to make arrangements for the next few days. Emmett went for coffee, and Deb is at work…" I stop myself in the middle of the list, in case he catches the absence of the one name he'd be listening for…the name of someone who definitely won't be coming in. Who'll never be going anywhere ever again, thanks to him.

"I…uh…I'm sorry you got hurt." I suppose this is only a partial lie. No matter how much I think he deserves to be punished for what he did, I don't think he deserves to die.

During my whole stilted monologue, Brian doesn't turn his head, or even flex his fingers. God only knows if he's still capable of thinking - even the doctors don't know for sure. I guess this is my chance, then. I've got nothing to lose, and nobody here to listen to me making an ass out of myself.

"Uh…thanks for coming to see me when I was in the hospital. I didn't know about that until today, and I wanted to say thank you." Still no response, so I go on. "I guess you did a lot of nice things that people didn't really hear about, but that's sad, Brian. If you were a real man, you'd have been able to accept other peoples' praise…people who knew you and loved you, and not just some guys wearing suits and handing out stupid awards! If you'd given us a chance to care about you, maybe we wouldn't think you're such an asshole."

I hear someone clearing his throat in the doorway, and I turn to see Vic standing behind me. "Your ten minutes is up, Ted. You can go if you need to. I'm here for the next one."

I'd love to stay, but I can't. Actually, I'd love to want to stay, but I don't. I want to get the hell out of here, go to work, and forget any of this ever happened.

"Sure Vic, thanks, but don't tire yourself out."

He chuckles a bit, and stands tall. "What do you think I am, a sissy? I think I can sit beside a hospital bed for a couple of hours. I've certainly spent enough time IN them." Which is, of course, the sad but uncomfortable truth, so I bid him goodbye and start trying to cast next Saturday's Dildo Domination festival in my head.

By the time I get to work, Brian and the hospital have completely slipped my mind.

***

I don't know how long I'm going to be here. Michael needed to close up some last minute details so that his assistant Alex can run the store for a couple of days. Deb is only working half-shifts for the rest of the week. She doesn't want to be there, but let's face it, we can't really afford for her to be sitting here all day. Ted and Emmett have pretty flexible schedules these days, but I suppose they still need me to fill in the gaps.

That would have been Justin's job, if he weren't dead.

Shit. Poor kid. Like he hadn't already had enough problems with Brian. I wouldn't exactly call him an innocent bystander, but it wasn't his fault Brian was drunk. Then again, Brian being drunk when he leaves Babylon isn't exactly a surprise, and after two years, Justin should have known better. Eh, I guess there's enough blame to go around for everyone.

This is such a waste, sitting beside the bed of such a young man, waiting for him to live again. There just wasn't any warning. I'm not old myself, but the first time I was dying, I had time to rage - rage bitterly against the world, against everything that had brought me to the hospital and everyone who had done me wrong. "Why, why me?" seemed to be the only thing I could think of. I knew so many people who fucked everything in sight, and were NEVER safe, and didn't get infected. I wanted to know was what I'd done to deserve this.

The second time I almost died, I didn't feel anything…maybe a little sorry I was going, but really, I was prepared by then. The real emotions didn't arise until afterwards, when I'd recovered and my T cell count came back up. I had time to think about all the guys who hadn't made it, who hadn't gotten a second "second chance", and I felt guilty. I hadn't done anything especially good that I should be spared, so why was I? I found myself asking, again, "What did I do to deserve this?"

But even that was a while ago now, and I'm pretty content to just live as much of life as I can. Doris Day couldn't have said it any better. Que sera sera…whatever will be, will be. And that's fine for me, but not fine for them.

This time, I'm sitting here and asking, "What did THEY do to deserve this?" A tragic accident with two young people…it just doesn't seem fair. And believe me, I was the last one to believe that life had ever been or ever would be fair to any faggot.

I can see a little of his hair peeking out of the bandages, some of it bloody, but some still smooth and shiny. Poor kid. "Brian. It's Vic. Sometimes I could hear people when I was out of it, so maybe you can hear me." I sit in the chair next to his bed and take his left hand, surprisingly warm and dry, and completely perfect - unlike his bandaged torso and mummy-wrapped face.

"I love you like you're my own son. You and Michael were the only kind of kids that queers could have, once upon a time. I loved you then and I love you now, so get your shit together and wake up. You're scaring Deb to death."

Still no response, but that's okay, I don't expect miracles. They come when they're ready, so I get myself comfortable and wait for our miracle to arrive.

***

"Vic? Do you need a break?" I whisper, then clear my throat and try again. "Did you want to get a coffee or some lunch?"

He turns to me slowly, and I'm not sure if he's actually going to speak to me or not. "Jennifer," is all he can manage, looking quite surprised to see me.

"I just came up from…" I'm about to say the morgue, and I would, if he was Brian, or somebody else that I wanted to hurt, but he's not. He's someone who loves Justin almost as much as I do…did…Oh God, it just keeps sneaking up on me that he's really gone. I saw that for myself just a few hours ago, and…I can't…I won't keep crying. I need to do this one thing first.

"Jenn, can I ask what happened? How he...?" He trails off, patting Brian's hand, and for the first time I take a look at Brian himself. He looks like he got thrown at a brick wall - his face is just a flat plane of bandages over some plastic guards. Vic sees me looking over his shoulder, so he leaves the chair, taking my hand on the way out the door.

The hallway is cool and a little dark, and it's nice to be somewhere quiet. Hospital rooms are relentlessly noisy, as I learned last summer, when Justin had been hit. I would sit and watch Justin breathing, trying to listen for the inhale and exhale but only hearing a steady whooshing and the beep, beep, beep that meant the machines were alive and my son was not. It's going to be quiet like this forever. Justin won't ever breathe again.

"Jenn? It's okay to cry," he says, placing an arm gently over my shoulder. "We love Justin. We'll miss him." He tears up a little himself, and I feel very grateful to see it, because the whole fucking world revolves around Brian Kinney, and nobody can seem to spare a minute of grief for my beautiful boy.

"Thank you," I say, my voice wavering despite my best attempts to stay calm. "You were asking about Justin."

He nods gently. "I'd like to be able to tell Deb something. She's a mess."

For the first time since I got the call from the hospital early this morning, I can spare a tiny bit of sympathy for someone else. Years ago, when Deb first came barreling up to my door, wearing her hideous coat and bursting with unwanted advice, I wanted her to go away. I wanted the whole idea of Justin being gay to just… go away. It's not what I pictured for him, nor what I wanted for him. I wanted him to have a white Volvo in the suburbs, and a wife pregnant with their second child, making banana bread for him while he's at work. When I realized Justin was gay, I had to put away all those dreams I had for him, and make new ones.

Deb was as base and crude as anyone I'd ever met, full of too much information about things I didn't want to think about, and she took as much getting used to as Justin's homosexuality...but she loved my son like he was her own, at a time when my love wasn't what he needed. I've watched documentaries and read books since then, and now I know what happens to boys who are put out on the street by homophobic parents. They die.

Dammit. He died anyway.

"Jenn?" Vic murmurs, and I can see the worry in his eyes. He looks tired. It can't be good for him to be under this much stress. Maybe if I just say my piece to Brian I can leave and Vic will have one less thing to worry about.

"He had internal bleeding, Vic, a ruptured spleen. If he felt any pain, it would have been brief." Brief but excruciating, according to the doctor I overheard on the way down to the viewing room. I shouldn't have to know that, but I don't want to burden Deb with it. Some things I'll just have to bear alone.

"I'll say a prayer for him. When is the service?" he says, another tear escaping the very corner of his eye. I watch it travel down his skin, over wrinkles and sags that Justin's skin will never have. He wipes it away, and it shakes me out of my reverie.

"Not for a couple of days, Vic. I need to find Craig, he's traveling on business again. And Molly…I don't know what to say to Molly."

"You'll think of something, Jenn. You're strong. You'll manage." I appreciate that he doesn't tell me it will be okay, because it won't be okay. It feels like it will never be okay again.

"Thank you." He gives me a hug, and mumbles something about finding the bathroom before he wanders off in the direction of the cafeteria.

Brian is right where we left him; still unconscious. I want to shake him and wake him up, because I want him to be able to stand in court and be punished for killing my son with his own carelessness and stupidity. I want him to have to account for his actions, and admit that he ruined my son! Ruined him for love, ruined him for happiness, ruined him for life. Justin wouldn't be dead if he weren't with Brian - if he had never been with Brian at all.

"Brian?" I whisper as I approach the bed, waiting for him to jump up and yell, "Gotcha!" or something equally immature. He doesn't.

"Listen, I'm not all that sorry that you're hurt, because you've done more than enough hurtful things to deserve it in return. You broke my son's heart over and over again, but I can even forgive you for that, since he'd been warned a hundred times, by you and everyone else, to just stay the hell away from you. But he GOT away, Brian! He found Ethan, and they were happy! Why couldn't you leave him alone to live out his life? You took it all away, and all because you don't know how to call a fucking cab! Why did you have to take him with you? WHY?!?"

I break out into full-fledged sobs at this point, and a nurse pops her head in to ask about all the noise. She sees me crying, and comes over to give me a hug, rubbing me on the shoulder and saying, "Shhh… I know it's hard, honey. Hang in there."

"You have no idea," I mumble, and she nods in agreement. I want to say, "This man killed my son! Pull the plug!" but nothing comes out, nothing but tears for Justin that I would rather shed in private. One way or another, I've said my goodbyes to Brian Kinney, so I turn my back on him for the last time and leave him alone.

***

I took a big, deep breath out in the hallway, steeling myself to see him again. He still looks terrible, but he's breathing by himself, so that's a good sign, isn't it? Isn't it? One more breath, and I go in to spread a little love to the one guy who'll never take it.

"Brian! Wake up! It's Emmett, and YOU are missing all the cute boys!" I wheedle, trying desperately to get a response from him. Nada. This is getting really depressing.

"Come on, Brian, the coast is clear. Teddy's long gone, so you won't have to listen to him talk about how fast tax season is approaching…" Still nothing. I don't know why I thought I'd be able to bring him around, but you know, after all those years in Sunday School, I sort of figured Brian would have a little Mary Magdalene action going. You know, miracles made to order for the wicked, and all that. Besides, he looks fabulous in blue. But not so fabulous as Justin does…did.

Oh God.

I just have to keep my mind off of that for ten lousy minutes. Brian needs me right now - I have the entire rest of the day to grieve for Justin.

Nine minutes to go.

"Well, I'm not going to have any trouble at all filling my time with you, Brian, ten minutes isn't enough for all the scandals I've heard about lately! I know that some would say it's hard to have a conversation with someone who can't respond, but I've never had trouble with that before! I'm not kidding about these orderlies, they are something else. Did you see the one with the blonde streaks? He has the most fabulous little tushie, you just want to pinch it all over…"

My motor mouth has completely taken over, and it's a relief. Spending this time with Brian will not be a problem…

…as long as I can keep myself from thinking about Justin, or talking about Justin, or exploding into a fury and demanding to know why the FUCK he felt the need to kill Justin, I'll be fine. My crazy aunt Ida - one crazy aunt out of seven, if you're keeping score - always said that sick people need all the love and compassion you can muster, because you never know if they're going to up and die on you. After all, you don't want your last words to a sick friend to be, "Why do you always act like such a goddamned asshole?" or something equally boorish. Now, if that doesn't apply to Brian, I don't know what does, so I'm going to play nice right now and yell at him later. And wait for an apology later. And decide if I'm going to forgive him for killing Justin…later.

"Honey, did you hear about Spike and Angelo? You know them; they come into Babylon all the time…Angelo's the big leather dude, and Spike is that cute little brunette about ten years younger than Angelo? Well, it seems that Spike decided he finally wants a commitment ceremony, and to hell with Angelo's excuses…so Angelo is compromising by having the ceremony at Meathook!"

I am seriously expecting him to tell me to fuck off, stop acting like a gossipy queen and get him a latte, but he doesn't. I think that's when I realize that his eyes aren't going to just magically pop open. That everything won't magically be fixed.

"Did you hear about Conga Charlie? He came to Babylon wearing a fluorescent green thong and it…Wait, you heard about that, you were there that night… Okay, how about…ummm…"

I stare at Brian, having fallen into an unexpected silence, words having failed me for the very first time in my life. It's all so unimportant. Justin is dead, cold-in-the-ground dead, and nothing is going to bring him back. Brian is lying here in a coma, and if he can hear me, he doesn't want to hear about Conga Charlie or the "bankrupt faux-hetero commitment ceremony" of two acquaintances from a dance club. I know what he wants to hear about, and WHO he wants to hear about, but I'm not supposed to say his name.

I'm not supposed to mention him at all, but I just can't do that. That would be like wishing him away, and I can't pretend I'm not hurting anymore.

"I'm sorry Justin couldn't come, honey. He sends you his love." I manage to stammer out, but after that, I can't make myself keep going. The tears come again, hard and fast. Oh my, I think I'm getting the vapours. I have to sit down and try…notice I said, try…to compose myself.

Justin. Our poor baby is gone. Gone! He's too young to die! It's not right. It's not real. All of this will be a horrible, horrible daydream, and when I wake up everything will be fine, Brian will be snarking and Justin will be laughing and Ted will be griping and Michael will be joking, and we'll be sitting in the diner and it'll all be all right again…

...but…

…this isn't Dynasty, and it wasn't all a dream. Justin's still dead and Brian's still in a coma and I'm still sitting here crying on my brand new shirt. If I don't knock it off, Brian WILL wake up - just to ask me what my problem is and tell me to shut the fuck up! I'm here to try and give him something to live for - ten minutes of sunshine (Did I just say that? Dammit!) in a long line of mourners. That means no crying.

Problem is, I can't do that when there is a big, giant elephant sitting in the middle of this room. I have to tell him. I can't hold it in anymore.

"Brian, something happened to Justin…"

I can smell Deb before I see her, a cloud of sickly-sweet perfume mixed with diner grease blustering its way through the door. Her arms come around my neck from behind, and she rests her chin on my hair.

"Don't do it, honey." It's more of a demand than a request, but she's compassionate. "Let him wake up first. It's for the best that way." She strokes my hair, like a mother would, and hugs me a little more tightly. All of this must be hard for her, with one of her boys passed away and the other missing in action.

"I couldn't just sit here anymore without telling him," I say quietly, and we both watch Brian sleeping his dreamless sleep.

"It's hard for all of us, honey. We have to be here for each other." She's stroking my hair now, and it's soothing to have a mama here when someone is hurting.

"I know…" I trail off, suddenly having the urge to touch Brian, to see if there's even a body in there under all those blankets and bandages. I touch his hand, just briefly, but pull away. It's so…normal…so Brian…and I guess old habits die hard.

Deb sees me and smiles. "You're a good boy, Emmett. I don't tell you boys that I love you often enough, but I do. Even when you make me crazy like this one does," she laughs, tears in her eyes and in her voice, and she hugs me again. "I think your ten minutes is up, honey. Come down to the cafeteria and buy me a cup of coffee."

She pats my shoulder and leaves the room, giving me a minute to say goodbye to Brian alone. I'm not sure if he's in there or not, and I'm not sure if he's hearing me or not, but if my Aunt Ida was right, then there's something else I need to say.

"Look, I know that if you can hear me, you're going to kick my ass later…" I start, standing from the chair and fidgeting with my clothes a little. "…but I'll take my chances. No matter how much of an asshole you've been… or how much you make me want to kick you sometimes…" I'm choked up, but I have to get through this… "I do care about you, Brian. Please wake up for us. It's not that we need you here…"

My voice gives out again as I realize that we don't need Brian. I went to work today, while he was here. Ted's website got its millionth hit, Michael got a new comic shipment, the cooks at the diner learned how to make Spam Florentine…everything that was going to happen still happened with Brian in a coma. In fact, Justin has died, and we must not have needed him either, because the Earth is still turning. That's such a hard thought to bear, realizing that we're all just teeny tiny specks and the universe can roll along just fine without any one of us - even the ones we love the most.

I take a deep breath and let it all rush out. "It's not that we need you here, it's that we want you. We like you, and if you'd let us, we'd probably love you, too. Please come back to us, Brian. We'll wait for you."

I kiss his still-perfect hand and rush from the room, heading down to the cafeteria while I can still see through my watery eyes.

***

I'm surprised that when I get to the hospital for my second shift, I'm completely alone. There isn't anyone waiting in the waiting room, or the cafeteria. Nobody has snuck outside to have a secret cigarette. I thought we had it all worked out so that he would never be left by himself, and maybe a little bit to keep Ethan away from him. God only knows what Ethan would do if he made it in here - he'd probably finish Brian off with his bare hands!

I peek in the door, and it's just Brian, wheezing but unmolested. That's good; it gives me time to think. What the hell am I going to say to this kid?

I walk into the room and sit beside him, just looking at the messiness. Brian would hate being so out of control and muddled, if he were awake to see it. The bloody bandages and wrinkled sheets would offend his sense of style and order. It's as if he was raised in some royal castle where nothing was ever out of place and everything looked fucking perfect all the time, instead of here in Pittsburgh, where people are real and his family was just a bunch of bad actors trying to be dignified and failing miserably.

I'm not trying to act like anything. I love my boys. Don't ever tell me I don't love them all and look out for them all, as much as any woman could. As much as any mother could, I'm there for them, through their bad dates and bad tricks and bad cheques. I'm there. I'm even there when I don't want to be.

Like now.

I have nothing nice to say to Brian right now. I'm so mad at him, I could spit. What the fuck was he thinking, getting in his Jeep and driving poor Sunshine into a tree?!? He's always been an asshole, but Jesus, that takes the cake. I knew he was thoughtless, and arrogant, and a giant prick, but I didn't think he would actually ever physically hurt someone.

No, I thought he'd just keep killing them slowly, cutting them down a little bit each time until they got hurt so badly they took off, or until they finally shut him out altogether. I wasn't surprised that Sunshine got tired of the Don Juan de Homo routine, I was just surprised that out of the lot of them, he was the first to grow up and realize that it's not okay for Brian to be a jerk all the time. It's not okay for someone who claims to care about you to keep hurting you like that.

He finally grew up and smartened up and look what it got him. Brian was as toxic to Justin as he ever was to Michael. I knew that kid was trouble the moment Michael dragged him home from school when they were fourteen fucking years old, and he's never, ever proved me wrong.

So what the hell am I doing here? Brian doesn't need a mother, he HAS a mother. I called her this morning, from the diner…

_"Hello?"_

_"Hello Joan, this is Debbie Novotny. Do you remember me? Our kids are friends."_

_"Oh…yes, Mrs. Novotny, I do."_

_"Good. Listen, you need to come down to the hospital. Brian was in a car accident."_

_"An accident?"_

_"Yes, he hit a tree, dead-on, and they don't know if he's going to make it. You should come down and see him as soon as you can!"_

_"There are no accidents, Mrs. Novotny. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. If the Lord has called Brian to purgatory, surely you aren't suggesting I should interfere?"_

_"Joan! You're his mother! It's not interfering with God's plans to tell your kid you love him! What if he dies?"_

_"Mrs. Novotny, Brian decided to live a life of sin and debauchery, despite my plea to accept Jesus into his heart, and allow himself to be saved. Now it seems that his day of reckoning has come. If he had lived a life of goodness and righteousness, then this would be a day of celebration, the committal of his soul into the house of the Lord. Unfortunately, he chose the path of eternal damnation, and I can't be a part of that."_

_"A part of WHAT? What the hell are you talking about? He's your son!!!"_

_"The Bible makes it very clear that his life of wickedness and…sodomy…is nothing but a pathway straight to hell. I will pray for his eternal soul to find mercy in the eyes of God."_

_"Mercy? You wouldn't know mercy if it bit you in the ass!"_

_"Mrs. Novotny, I must be going. I suggest you leave my son to wallow in the filth he created. Good day."_

And that was that. She's willing to let her son die, without ever seeing him again, over some small print in a book written two thousand years ago! Can you imagine? I can't.

I hate what Brian did to Sunshine, and when he wakes up, I'm going to knock the shit out of him, but I won't have him dying alone. I love this boy - someone has to!

"Brian, it's Debbie. You rest easy, honey, because I'm looking out for you. We all are, and we're here as long as you need us."

***

"Debbie, hello…how are you doing?" I ask, nudging the door to the waiting room open with my hip. "How's Brian?"

She looks so tired, sitting here resting after her second shift with Brian. Her makeup can't hide the dark circles under her eyes, and her wig is on slightly crooked. I don't know how she does it, working double shifts at the diner and then coming here to sit by Brian's bedside. I only have Gus to look after, and he leaves me exhausted!

"Lindsay. Come in, come in," she exclaims, always having a smile for one of us even when she's ready to drop. "I was wondering who had the next shift. Thought I'd stick around and make sure someone was here."

"Oh, that's lovely, Deb, but really, there's no need. I'm free for the next couple of hours. I can stay." It took me an entire afternoon of arguing with Mel, but she finally agreed to postpone the meeting she'd planned and look after Gus, so that I can be here with Brian. Her partners will still be alive and well tomorrow, and her case doesn't go to trial for another week, so I don't see why she can't sacrifice a few hours so I can come and care for Brian.

Maybe it would be different if she would come down and sit with Brian for an hour or two, but she won't. _"If he's going to die, he wouldn't want me there pitying him, and if he's going to live, he wouldn't want me to gloat that I'm healthy and he's gotten exactly what I think he deserves."_ And while that may be true, it shouldn't stop her from coming down here to support US, should it?

Deb hauls herself out of her chair, grabbing for the bright carpet-bag she calls a purse and stepping gingerly towards the door. "Thanks, sweetie, I'd love to go home and put my feet up."

I walk her to the door, pausing at the junction between the hallway that will take her home and the one that will take me to Brian. "You do that. I'll call you if there's any change."

"I'll put the phone by the bed tonight," she promises, and I send her away with a hug.

The walk to Brian's room is too long and too short. I know what he looks like, and truthfully, it doesn't bother me much. He'll get better. Maybe he'll finally have a chance to get his deviated septum fixed, while they're at it. They say they can do miracles with titanium plating and engineered skin grafts, so I'm sure that he'll look young and beautiful again.

I come in and sit down, looking at the monitors and the charts, where nothing has changed since the last time I was in here.

"Bri, it's Lindsay. I'm here now. I couldn't bring Gus - they won't let him onto this floor. It's just me, so sleep, and wake up when you're ready."

The thing that worries me is the emptiness - not just in the room, but also in HIM. I've always felt Brian; he's always been powerful, intense. He's always been my strength, and I'm not sure I can let that go so easily. People don't understand how hard it is for me to be who I am. No…what I am. Brian has always helped me to go with my instincts, but… it's hard!

When I met him in college, I already knew what I was. I, Lindsay Peterson, descendant of a Daughter of the Empire, able to trace my lineage back for nine generations, am a dyke. If I can hardly even say it now, to myself, in my own head, imagine how it felt to say it then, and to my parents? To the world? I'll admit that I chickened out the first few times I tried to tell them.

But I had tried, I really did! I just couldn't figure out how to say, "Hey Daddy, your little baby girl likes to kiss other girls." I didn't understand it, and I didn't want it, and so I just kept…putting it off.

Of course, the longer I put off telling other people, the longer I could deny it to myself. Maybe I was a straight girl who could appreciate the beauty of other women. Maybe I was bisexual and just kept getting crushes on other girls. Finding Brian, making love with him and dating him and actually being happy with him, made it pretty easy to keep up the denial. Of course, he was cheating on me with other guys and I was cheating on him with other girls, but my mind was at ease, because I had a boyfriend. I was straight, and I could show the world that I was a perfectly normal girl.

That worked for exactly eleven weeks and three days, until Mom and Dad walked into a party they were hosting at our house to find Brian screwing our gardener. They acted shocked and horrified, as I suppose any set of parents would, walking in on their daughter's boyfriend with someone else…let alone another man. They started ranting and raving, and he was taking it from them, right up until they demanded he apologize for sullying their home with such perversity. He finally finished buttoning his trousers, looked them square in the eye, and said, _"This is who I am, and if you don't like it, you can fuck yourselves. It's not like I'm the only one in the house - you might want to check into your daughter's bedroom during those 'sleepover dates.' Ask your daughter if she's ever had sex with a woman. I dare you."_ After a comment like that, they didn't need to ask, they already knew.

And there it was. After years of denials, I was outed to my parents, their friends, and worst of all, myself. And even though he did it in the most vocal way he could, I knew it was for me. I would have been happy to deny myself the pleasure of finding true love and happiness, all in the name of being "normal." He's been the one to push me, always. He pushed me to come out, he pushed me to join the "fuzzy lesbian issue" group at the college, and he pushed me to date the women I met there.

He pushed me to try to give up the idea that being normal is somehow superior to being myself. He still does, and I still need him to do it, because as much as I would like to be a strong, out and proud lesbian mother, I can't. Not by myself.

I wish I could go to Mel with this, with so much actually, but I can't. She doesn't understand how hard it is for me just to be ME, because she's never, ever felt like anything but the strong, capable woman she is. She knows herself perfectly, and isn't afraid to be that woman. I'm not like that. I hate that I'm so passive aggressive, and Brian…Brian is as aggressive as anyone I've ever met. I borrow from that surety every day of my life, and I've built my whole life around having that available to me, whenever I need it.

"Be strong, Bri. Just be strong for me."

***

"Hey Brian, it's me, Mikey. Can you please wake up for me? Look, I know you're in a lot of pain, and you're tired, but if you don't wake up soon, they're going to start to wonder if you'll actually live. I don't want them giving up on you, because I'll never give up on you…but to get them to take you seriously, you're going to have to wake up."

Still nothing, not a twitch, not a groan, not even a change in his breathing. I've been sitting here for more than the allotted ten minutes - it's actually closer to twenty - but Caitlyn, Brian's night nurse, is letting it slide. That makes me grateful on one hand, and really worried on the other. What does she know that she's not telling me? Is he dying now? I have to wake him up!

"Brian, remember when Ted was here, and afterwards, you said you wanted it to be me to pull the plug? Well, I don't WANT to! I never want to! You're…you're my best friend, Brian. I love you, always have, always will, and you know I don't want to live without you. Fuck, I couldn't even move to Seattle without you! That was only a few weeks, are you going to make me suffer for the rest of my life? Wake up!"

I have my head in my hands, groaning and frustrated beyond all reason, when I see it. His finger moved! There it is again. I hold my breath, praying desperately to hear something, anything, when he says it.

"Nigchey." His voice is scratchy, and garbled by his broken palate and all the bandages, but it's the sweetest sound I've ever heard!

"Yes Brian, it's me! You're awake, thank God! We thought we lost you!"

"Whaa?" he asks, and starts pawing at the bandages over his eyes.

"Shhhh…it's okay, your eyes are covered. You got some glass in them during the accident, but they should heal good as new."

He babbles something that I really can't understand, something about the accident, I guess. There's a pause, and then the inevitable question.

"Chusthin?" He says it, trying to enunciate with great effort. I don't want to tell him, it sort of doesn't seem like a good idea, but that's what we agreed to do. Tell him about Justin as soon as he wakes up.

I take his hand, stroking it and leaning close to whisper to him.

"Brian…shhh…I'm so happy you're awake! Shhh, listen to me. I hate to say it, but Justin didn't make it, Bri. He's gone."

He just lies there on the bed for a moment, motionless, and then he rips his hand away from mine and slams it into the bedrail, wailing the first word I've understood clearly all night:

"No!!!!!!!"

"God! Brian, calm down!"

He's panicking now, thrashing wildly and tearing at the bandages on his head, every word a heartfelt piece of nonsense… then, suddenly, the thrashing stops. He freezes and starts to make a horrible choking noise, like he can't get any air or something. The monitors go crazy, alarming and flashing and I press the call button in a horrible panic.

"Oh my God, Caitlyn, get in here! Something's wrong!"

She flies into the room, takes one look at the monitors, and presses the call button as soon as she gets to it. "I have a code in here! I need the crash cart and the cardio team to room 308, stat!"

Those are TV words for, "Here come the pretty nurses and the studly doctors to save the patient of the week..." 

...but in Brian's room...

...at 2:58 in the morning...

...it means that my best friend has gone into cardiac arrest and will never, ever wake up again.


End file.
